Memories
by wuemsel
Summary: After being hit by a maniac quickening, Methos starts to act strange and to lose bits of his memory.


Hi there!  
  
You probably read the summary before you got here, so I won´t repeat it. Just one thing: a maniac quickening is like a dark quickening, only that you get mad instead of evil.  
  
Sounds fun?  
  
`kay, then here we go.  
  
Oh, I almost forgt : the characters appearing in "Highlander" don´t belong to me, which is proof enough that this is an unfair world.  
  
"Mr. Clean"and the lyrics which led to his fame don´t belong to me, either. But that´s okay.  
  
The other guys mentioned in the story do belong to me, but they´re not good- looking and cool, and therefor I´m going to get rid of all of `em ...  
  
Hope you enjoy this!  
  
  
  
  
  
Memories  
  
If people only knew. Oh, if they only knew what wisdom looked like. What wisdom sounded like...  
  
"Mr. Clean will clean your whole house and everything that´s in it, dirt and grease and hm, hm ,hm will vanish in a minute. Can he clean a mirror?"  
  
"Adam."  
  
"He can clean a mirror! Can he clean a carpet?"  
  
"Adam, please!"  
  
"He can clean a carpet. Mr. Clean will clean your whole house and everything that´s in it, dirt and grease and hm, hm, hm...."  
  
"Adam!!!"  
  
"...will vanish in a minute! Mr. Clean will clean your whole house and...."  
  
"Methos!!!"  
  
The worlds oldest man, the inbodiement of human wisdom stopped singing and lifted his head to glance at his personal bartender.  
  
"Pardon?" he asked innocently as if he hadn´t heard him before.  
  
Joe Dawson sighed with rapidly vanishing patience. "Would you please stop singing this stuff? You´re driving me crazy!"  
  
"What, Mr. Clean...."  
  
"Don´t you dare!"  
  
"Okay, okay," Methos hushed and held up his hands.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Methos smiled wryly, watching his friend cleaning ( ( ) a cup.  
  
"Did we experienced something with Mr. Clean we don´t want to be reminded of, Joseph, kid?"  
  
Dawson shot him a look that could have killed someone of another age.  
  
The target of said look just coninued smiling like a curious boy and took another sip of his beer.  
  
"I liked Mr. Clean when I was young. You know, the 50ies, suburbs...the American Dream..."  
  
The young-looking man made a face as if he missed the "good old time".  
  
Joe sighed. "As if you´d been ever young in your life. - What´s with you today, anyway?" he asked. "All your other victims escaped?"  
  
The Old One made a face as if this hammered home. Bowing his head, he said in a very little voice: "Actually I feel a lack of attention. MacLeod´s in Paris, Amanda in...hm, jail, I suppose. - I feel neglected."  
  
"Don´t make me cry."  
  
"Oh, I knew, you wouldn´t understand!" Methos said in an overpitched accusing voice, staring into his beer like a poor bohemian artist.  
  
Before Joe could even think of a fitting reply, he was interrupted by the telephone ringing.  
  
Glancing at the still miserable-looking form, which was beginning to somewhat crawl over the bar ( in order to grab a beer, he supposed ), he got to the phone.  
  
"Yeah, "Joe´s ..." Oh, hey Scott."  
  
At the mention of the name Methos´head came up from underneath the bar, his eyes sparkling with rising happiness.  
  
"Yeah," Joe continued answering Scott Madows´questions, ignoring the immortal´s looks. "Yeah. - No. - Ya. - Sure, yes, sure. Listen, why....ya." He rolled his eyes.  
  
Methos grinned. "Tell him to come over," he suggested.  
  
Joe kept his strategy of ignoring his friend who still hang somewhere between his chair and the bar, fumbling with a beer can to lift it out of ist place.  
  
"Tell him."  
  
"Yeah, Scott. Yes. - Yeah. - Yeah. Listen, why don´t you come over and...No, he´s here." He glanced at Methos.  
  
"Yes, I´m here," the immortal stated.  
  
"No, he´s not working," Joe continued with a sly smile spreading on his lips. "Should he?"  
  
Methos frowned. Should he?  
  
"Actually he´s..."The smile grew into a devious grin, lightening Dawson´s face with darkness, "...having a private Wednesday-night-party here. You know, nothing serious, the usual standards: Drugs..."  
  
"Joe!" Meths warned, while he stumbled back on his chair.  
  
"...women....okay, Scott, see ya."  
  
He hang up. "Scott Madows´coming over in a minute," he declared as if Methos couldn´t have guessed.  
  
Now the young-looking oldie was a really miserable sight. "What was that for?" he asked in his boyish tone. "Now he´s gonna sue me. Again."  
  
Joe grinned. "Mr. Clean will clean your whole house and verything that´s in it..."  
  
Methos shot him a look, then finished his beer and opened the can he´d found underneath the bar, and shrugged.  
  
"Anyway, it will be nice to have him here," he stated as if looking forward to meeting an old friend.  
  
Joe moaned. "Yeah, as nice as giving a kidney without anaesthetic. Why of all of us you like the guy, I´ll never understand," he added, eyeing the immortal watcher questioningly. "He treats you like the slowest boy in class."  
  
Methos smiled konwingly. "Well," he explained, "first of all he calls me "kid". I like that."  
  
Joe rolled his eyes.  
  
"Then," the old "kid" continued, "he treats me like I was Adam Pierson.- Actually," he added after a few moments thoughts, "he treats me like you did before you found out about the family secret."  
  
Joe frowned. "I never called you "kid"!"  
  
"Right, you called me "son"."  
  
"Naw, I didn´t!"  
  
"Yes, you did. Your first words when we met where: "Hallo, son, I´m Joe Dawson and if you need any help any time, you can call me. It´s all a little exciting when you´re new, but take this advice: Don´t get carried away."."  
  
Methos stopped imitating Joe´s American accent and his voice and sipped at his beer, peering over the bottle at the old watcher.  
  
"Wow."  
  
"What? Didn´t you trust my memory?"  
  
"No, I never thought you called talk normal English," Joe smirked.  
  
"I am talking English the way Shakespeare did."  
  
"No doubt ´bout that."  
  
"And the Beatles," Methos added.  
  
Joe snorted. "Right. What´s your real accent, anyway!" It sounded likeva question, though  
  
Joe knew what would be the answer. He´d asked this question a hundred times before. That wasn´t a game, it was something he really wanted to know.  
  
As usual, Methos answered in a language Joe couldn´t guess the origin of, then tunred when the door was opened and the impressive form of Scott Madows entered the stagelight.  
  
"Pierson, aren´t you supposed to be at the library," he greeted the younger- looking man, then nodded to Joe.  
  
Methos beamed, but only Dawson could tell. To Madows, Pierson bowed his head kind of ashamed and made the face of a boy caught red-handed.  
  
"I...uh..." he started his defense, then glanced up to say in a very, very little voice: "Sorry, sir."  
  
"Well, boy," Madows replied lenient, sitting down next to him, "that´s something."  
  
He smiled as if he knew exactly what it was like to be young and turned to Joe.  
  
Dawson forced himself to a smile of that kind, too.  
  
Yes, he knew what it was like to be as young as Adam was. You´d make mistakes, you´d hang around in bars, you´d neglect your work, drinking more than was good for you. But Pierson was a good kid, wasn´t he? He just needed a little guidiance, sometimes a kick in the butt to find his way in the world and become a good watcher.  
  
Joe would never forget the day Madows had said exactly those words to him after he´d had a hard talk with Adam about his long absence.  
  
Methos had decided to leave the watchers, but thought differently about it after having joined the game more than he liked.  
  
Therefore he returned, the perfect image of a regretting lost son, and no one but Scott Madows, the new chief trainer, the young-watchers-coach, took him aside and had a few words with the young man abbout responsibility, youth, history, dedication and duty.  
  
After that talk Adam had been that convinced of becoming a really good watcher that Madows had decided this day to be a special successfull one.  
  
He couldn´t know that his well chosen words of wisdom had been seen as the medicine against boredom for the oldest immortal alive.  
  
"Gods, I love this guy," Methos had told Joe that evening at the bar.  
  
"He gave me back my lost faith in the watchers," he added patheticly.  
  
"You´re just using him to have fun."  
  
"That´s what I said."  
  
Joe sighed. Not that he didn´t think Madows deserved Methos, for he was very near hating the man, but he was tired of just hearing about the guy whose private crusade was to give back faith to every watcher.  
  
To Joe, Madows was nothing more than a pathetic jerk. To Methos, Madows was a very entertaining pathetic jerk.  
  
"What if he sends you out into the field?" Joe´d asked cleverly.  
  
Methos had shrugged. "Then I´ll watch Amanda. But since Mr. Madows thinks me years from being a watcher who actually watches, I wouldn´t worry about it."  
  
And he didn´t.  
  
"So," Madows turned to Methos after having talked to Joe about some minor communication problems which were still to be solved, "have your finished your report about 1066?"  
  
Methos nodded dutifully. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Good, good," Madows nodded, satisfied.  
  
Joe shot his friend a questioning look. He could have sworn that the Old One had been at the bar every single day of the past week, right after he´d got out of bed ( around two at midday), and he´d never seen him even pretending to do something usefull.  
  
Methos, who´d noticed the look, lifted his brow in return as if to wonder about Joe´s doubts.  
  
Dawson snorted unnoticed.  
  
"It´s important that you prove yourself to be fast, kid," Madows explained; Methos nodded.  
  
Yes, he understood. Yes, sir.  
  
Joe wondered if Madows knew just how long Adam Pierson had been with the watchers before he became a lost son. Hadn´t Methos told him?  
  
"Because only if you´re fast with the books you´ll be send out to add your own files one day," Madows continued a well-known phrase to Adam who listened as if hearing all of this for the first time.  
  
Sometimes Joe wondered if Methos ever felt the temptation to tell the man that he´d known the watchers before tattoos were invented...but then telling his secrets wasn´t part of Methos´sense of fun.  
  
"Scott," Joe interrupted the student-teacher-talk, "you didn´t only come to teach a lesson here, right?"  
  
"No," Madows answered and smiled, because he´d mentioned the problem at the phone. "I´ve come to talk about William Taylor Crowe."  
  
"He calls himself Taylor Cohen these days," Methos couldn´t stop himself from correcting.  
  
Madows raised a brow at him, then smiled half proudly, half distanced.  
  
"Now listen ta the kid, Joe," he said good-humoredly, "nowadays my students are better informed than I am myself."  
  
Methos bowed his head as if embarrassed, Joe resisted the urge to call "Anyone for vomit?!"  
  
Instead of he ignored the charade his friend was enjoying so much and asked: "What about him? Last thing I heard was he´d beaten Lemke in Switzerland and returned to Paris last april."  
  
"Well, it´s about his condition," Madows said meaningfully.  
  
"His mental condition?" Adam asked curiously, and Madows eyed him reprimandly, though he answered:  
  
"Yes. Thompson´s report says it´s getting worse. He may lose touch to reality at all soon. Thompson´s not sure what to do about it, so I´ll take over from him."  
  
Methos frowned, but kept silent. he knew Madows didn´t appreciate his students asking silly questions when he was talking to the grown-up watchers. ( But, still, Methos loved to do it, just for the look he then earned from the older-looking man.)  
  
Dawson asked what Methos thought. "You?"  
  
Well, it was the short form of what Methos had thought.  
  
"Don´t say that as if I´m going to ride a rodeo," Madows laughed, trying to hide his hurt pride.  
  
"I´m rusty, but I´m still in the game, Joe. I can watch a maniac. And," he added after thinking about it for a second, "Adam could accompany me, by the way. It would be good training for you, kid."  
  
Methos´eyes widened, but not because his heart was travelling to lower places as Joe would have thought, but he was actually surprised to be thought of good enough for the mission.  
  
Dawson couldn´t help but admit that the Old One really looked like a student now. It seemed like Adam was actually proud of being asked to accompany his should-be role-model, and to Dawson´s shock he said:  
  
"Wow, thanks, sir. I´d be delighted to observe your methods more closely."  
  
Madows smiled patronizing.  
  
"Scott," Joe broke into the honorable moment, "don´t you think this would be too big for Adam? He´s new to the...world of immortality. It might be dangerous to take him with you."  
  
He glanced at Methos whose eyes had widened even more. "After all, he is still a kid."  
  
A moment passed before the Old One decided to grin at his friend ( using only his eyes in the process ), though he wasn´t sure if Dawson was actually worried about him or just teasing him. Either way, he appreciated it.  
  
Madows thought about the objection, then glanced at Adam. "What do you think, Adam? D`you feel up to it?"  
  
"Oh, I´d never doubt seniourity," he said absolutely convincingly.  
  
Dawson snorted under his breath, Madows nodded.  
  
"Well, we´ll see, ´kay, kid?"  
  
"Whatever you say, sir," Methos replied kindly, every bit of him the obeying student.  
  
Joe gulped down another vomit-comment and wondered if Methos had ever called him "sir".  
  
Funny, but it seemed impossible for him to think of his friend as Adam anymore. Even though he´d known Adam far longer than Methos, he couldn´t differ between them in his memories, as if there hadn´t been a time he hadn´t noticed the wit in Adam´s eyes, just like Madows didn´t notice it now.  
  
"What are you going to do about Cohen," Joe asked. "You can´t interfere."  
  
"No, not in that way," Madows explained, "but I´ll make sure he´s not getting into trouble with mortals. I have experiences ion those cases, you know."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Joe nodded impatiently.  
  
"But then,"Madows added, not having noticed the tone of his collegue, "I don´t think he´ll make it any longer once he´s gone nuts. They never do."  
  
Methos took a long gulp of his beer to not laugh out loud.  
  
Joe cleared his throat. "´kay, then, good luck."  
  
"I won´t need luck," Madows replied good-humoredly. "It´ll solve itself, this problem."  
  
Actually, someone will solve it, Methos thought, but kept quiet.  
  
Obviously Joe was thinking the same, and they exchanged a look of wordless communication.  
  
"Gee," Madows suddenly announced after having finished his beer and looking at his watch, "that late again? Where is all the time going to?!"  
  
Unconsciously Joe shot Methos a glance to catch his reaction, but the master of time didn´t lose his face at all. He´d probably heard every single stupid mortal phrase ever been spoken.  
  
"I think I better go home," Scott continued, "I just came to inform you about Thompson being free now," he said to Joe, "and to drag you outta here, too," he smiled at Adam, who looked up surprisedly.  
  
"Yeah, you I mean. Bet you drank too much again."  
  
Methos did his shy-act again, but now Dawson couldn´t help but grin at the inside. It was so damn convincingly! Adam Pierson was ashamed of himself wasting his time in bars on his way to becoming an alcoholic.  
  
Madows seemed to be convined, that is.  
  
"Come on, kid, we´re getting you home. I want the report on my desk tomorrow by nine, understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Methos replied and rose to grab his coat from behind the bar, not without sparkling at Joe as he did so, then followed his boss out on the street.  
  
Dawson watched them with amusement. "Night, Scott. Night - son!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"What a wonderful night!" Madows stated as they went through the damp, but somewhat spring-smelling air of Seacover.  
  
Methos made a doubting face. "Damp" alone was too wet for his liking. And though he liked the night, he liked it mostly from inside a bar.  
  
"So how long will you be staying in Seacover this time before returning to Paris again?" Scott asked.  
  
Methos glanced at him innocently.  
  
He knew how Madows thought about him travelling to Paris from time to time. Even though he had work to do at the Paris Headquarters, for there the watchers had most of the Methos-files, Madows didn´t like having his student out of town.  
  
At times Methos couldn´t help but think Scott supposed him to party around in Paris just because he was out of Madows´ sight.  
  
At times he thought about Madows like Joe supposed him to...  
  
"Why?" he finally asked. "You need something from there?"  
  
Madows laughed slightly. "So you´re going soon then?" he started again after a while.  
  
"Yes," Methos replied without looking at him. "I need some...files. And to visit a friend."  
  
A pure evil grin ran over his face - unnoticed of course.  
  
"It seems like you got many friends over there."  
  
"I´m a loveable person. Is there a specific reason for your asking or just polite interest?"  
  
Madows cleared his thorat, a bit embarrassed.  
  
"Adam," he said at last, pausing after that to rethink his following speech. "Kid, I just want to make sure you´re not...losing it again, you understand?"  
  
Methos smiled in the darkness. Gods, he really loved this. He hadn´t felt that young since he actually had been that young!  
  
As Adam didn´t answer, Madows took it as an invitation to keep on talking.  
  
"You´re a good man and you can become a really good watcher. You have it in you. But you tend to...lose it."  
  
Again he smiled noisely, kind of parentally. "I´m just worried about you, that´s all. I know I´m just an old man, out of date, but...I know what I´m talking about. I´ve seen kids like you. I´ve seen young watchers lose dedication, and it was a shame to watch them lose their...lives. Yes, being a watcher means to give your live for the job. But it´s worth it, isn´t it? - I just...it would be such a shame if you lost your faith all over again."  
  
Methos led a few seconds pass, then answered with opressed emotions: "Christ, Scott, actually I´m living in Paris, it´s not like I´m going to become a Buddhist or..."  
  
Madows laughed. "Yeah, I know, Adam. I know. Just..."  
  
Methos froze in midstep.  
  
Shit! Not now!!!  
  
  
  
Madows frowned when Adam wasn´t walking aside him anymore and turned.  
  
  
  
  
  
"What?"  
  
"I just....uh...I ... I forgot something at the bar. I have to go back and..."  
  
"Uh..." Methos thought nervously, looking around hastily. If he could feel the other immortal, the other immortal could feel him, too. And he couldn´t be that far away, too.  
  
"Ahm, my...ahm...c-phone." He sighed with relief and already took a few steps back, waving as if to say goodbye, but...  
  
"I didn´t know you had one."  
  
"Ah, well, actually it´s Joe´s."  
  
"But we´re almost there," Madows stated, "can´t you get it tomorrow?"  
  
"No, it´s...urgent. But you go on, I´ll see you, sir."  
  
"Yes, sure. - Oh, hey, Adam, wait."  
  
Methos turned unwillingly, every inch of his body urging him to keep moving in the opposite direction.  
  
"Sir, I really have to go now."  
  
"Yes, sure, sorry, it´s just that I wanted to...."  
  
"Who´s there?" another voice suddenly interrupted the old watcher. It was a dark one, deep, ancient almost, heavily accented, Celtic.  
  
Oh no, no, no, no, NO! Why me?!  
  
Madows fell shut in a heartbeat and stared at Methos stunned. He knew that voice. Within one step he was near his student, whispering:  
  
"That´s Taylor Cohen. Looks as if we got ourself in the middle of something."  
  
Methos gazed at him with a mix of insane amusement and total desperation.  
  
"C´mon, kid, let´s hide somewhere. You will get your chance at last."  
  
He lifted his brows in an encouraging way, but Methos twitched away when Madows tried to take his arm, and shook his head slightly.  
  
"I´d rather run than hide," he explained. He didn´t even had to play the fear in his voice.  
  
Imagining his watcher coach watching him fighting Taylor Cohen was something that could rise fear inside him easily.  
  
"Don´t be such a coward, kid," Madows said strictly and took his arm to drag him with him to a dark corner. "It´ll be fun, believe me."  
  
"Yeah, that´s pretty much what I´m afraid of," the immortal whispered under his breath.  
  
He managed to pull free as they reached the corner and took a run for the darkness, knowing Madows couldn´t call after him without risking to be found.  
  
"Hey, you!"  
  
Unfourtunately Cohen had found the darkness, too, so that Methos ran straight into him.  
  
"So." Cohen said as if having been insulted, and lifted his sword.  
  
"Huh?" Methos asked innocently, looking behind him nervously.  
  
They weren´t far enough for Madows to not hear them talk. Still, he also drew his sword. He´d rather had some explaining to do later then miss the later at all.  
  
"I am Taylor Cohen," Taylor Cohen introduced himself.  
  
Oh, you Celts! Don´t you have a clan, too?!  
  
"I know," Methos answered, his sword defensively risen, but with no sign of attempting action.  
  
Cohen, insane as he was, still knew what good manners were and bowed his head questioningly.  
  
Methos understood.  
  
"Oh, yes, sure. I am...pleased to meet you?" he tried nervously.  
  
Cohen cried out - good old Celtic fighting calls - and made his first move.  
  
"Guess not," Methos stated, while he fought off the madman´s attempts to decaptivate him.  
  
It was a fast fight, which didn´t mean it was over fast, but it was fought with fast moves, each attack a quick blow. After the first ten minutes Methos was getting worried.  
  
"Hey," he called when his opponent made a pause, still circling the other one, but trying to catch his breath.  
  
"I didn´t plan to come up with this, but my boss´ watching, and I´m afraid I´m kind of a sorry sight here, so why don´t we just...let it be for today and you call my office to get another appointment?"  
  
Again there was the terrifying war call before Cohen attacked, a perfect warning for his opponent. Methos didn´t even have time for a wise-crack. Another five minutes passed.  
  
"This," the Old One stated between two defensive moves, "is getting on my nerves!"  
  
Cohens sword hit his arm hart, he cried out with pain.  
  
"Okay, now I´m pissed off!" He lifted his head from his wounded arm, staring at his opponent, grinning a devil´s grin now.  
  
Suddenly Cohen found out that his opponent wasn´t all that bad with war calls either.  
  
Actually the Celt stood stunned as the other immortal cried out what must have been a call the world had never heard again since the bloody days, made a jump - and took his head.  
  
  
  
  
  
Scott Madows´ chin made the most remarkable attempts to reach the ground. His eyes seemed to popp out of his head.  
  
He wasn´t totally stunned - he was in shock...  
  
  
  
  
  
The fight was over. Methos stared at the head laying a few steps away from his feet and the body next to them. He panted heavily, waiting for the quickening to hit him - waiting for the pain. When that was over he could figure out what to do with his boss.  
  
But it didn´t come. No blue-lighting, electric energy hit him, no force threw him off his feet.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Frowning, he stepped nearer, watching first the body, then the head closely.  
  
"What the hell...."  
  
And then it hit him.  
  
It was strange. It was yellow. It smelled foul. It felt like hell.  
  
He couldn´t stop screaming even when it was finally over.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
With a deep, satisfied, absolutely deserved sigh Joe Dawson watched the last waitress leave the bar, waving goodbye to her.  
  
It was the moment he enjoyed his bar most: the smell of a good night still hanging in the air, echos of voices melting away in the dark...no wisecracking Ancient Alcoholic having fallen asleep on the bar or - worse! - being in a talkative mood.  
  
Gee, when had been the last time he´d actually had had such a moment like this, anyway?!  
  
But then - was he really moping around about having pals who´d hang around his bar!?  
  
"You´re gettin´old, buddy," he mumbled under his breath, turning for the office, when suddenly the door opened again.  
  
"We´re closed," he called without looking. When there was no reply or any sound of the customer leaving, he lifted his head.  
  
"Hey! I thought you´d be sound asleep by now."  
  
The younger looking man didn´t respond. He just stayed were he´d entered, frowning as if thinking why he got there.  
  
Another second like that passed before Joe started to frown, too.  
  
"What´s wrong?" he asked, steping out of behind the bar, nearer to his friend who still hadn´t answered him.  
  
"Methos? You okay?"  
  
Suddenly the immortal lifted his gaze, meeting Joe´s as if he hadn´t notice the watcher´s presence before.  
  
"I don´t feel too good," he finally spoke, confused, but not scared.  
  
Joe was scared. "You don´t look too good, too," he stated, trying to remain calm, but alarmed he was by the Old One´s strange behaviour.  
  
"Something happen?"  
  
It was then he noticed Methos´ torn sleeve where blood had dried on the dark material.  
  
"Oh no! Don´t tell me you got into a fight while Madows was with you!"  
  
Methos´ head snapped up a little at the mention of his boss.  
  
"Madows," he mumbled, then looked at Joe, right into his eyes, stating: "I had to kill him. - Sorry," he added. "I guess."  
  
His gaze wandered back to the ground, confused, as if he didn´t remember what he´d just said.  
  
Joe´s mouth had fallen open. "You what?!"  
  
When there was no response, he grabbed the slender man´s shoulders, ruttling him hard.  
  
"You did what?! Are you out of your mind?!"  
  
He stoped, and the immortal collapsed against him.  
  
Joe was too surprised to react first, then sweared loudly and dragged the still form to the office, where he could place it on the sofa and take a closer look at it.  
  
Methos looked whacked. His normally pale skin was a shiny white, his face drawn, but uncharacteristicly youthful.  
  
Unconsciously, Joe reached out to softly touch the immortal´s cheek. If he hadn´t known better, he´d sworn the kid was running a fever.  
  
But then it was impossible. And he was no kid.  
  
"What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?" Joe murmured under his breath, but the Immortal just continued being unconscious.  
  
When it was clear that he wouldn´t wake up within the next moments, Joe stood to call Madows.  
  
No one answered.  
  
"Dammit, pick up! - Pick up!"  
  
"This is Scott Madows speaking ..."  
  
"Scott! You´re alright?"  
  
"... unfortunately I´m not at home, but you can leave ..."  
  
Concerned, Joe put down the phone. "shit!"  
  
He returned to the still sleeping man on the cauch, eyeing him with a mixrure of awe and fear.  
  
"You didn´t possibly do that, Methos!"  
  
As if he´d heard him, the Old One suddely began to stir, moving his head slightly and murmuring unilliegable things under his breath.  
  
Joe leaned in closer to hear him, but was confronted with an unknown language. What a surprise!  
  
But still, the sudden sign of consciuosness was enough for Joe to roughly grab Methos´ shoulder in order to wake him from his dream.  
  
"Hey! Oldtimer! Wake up! Methos!"  
  
Under the touch, the Immortal began to toss a little more till his eyes snapped open, staring right at Joe´s with an intensity that made the younger man step away unwillingly.  
  
"It´s okay", Joe said, finding his hand rising in a calming manner at the Immortal. "Easy. T´just me."  
  
Methos blinked once. Twice. Then frowned slightly.  
  
"What the hell you´re doing, Joe? Do I look like a lion to you or what?" Bewildered he scanned his sourrandings. "And what am I doing here? I didn´t know you had a cauch in here. - Why the hell would you ..."  
  
"Will you please stop asking questions and answer some instead?"  
  
The Immortal fell silent.  
  
After a few seconds, Joe spoke calmy: "You don´t remember how you got here."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"So. What´s the last thing you do remember?"  
  
The Old One scanned the air lost in thoughts.  
  
"Uhm ... actually ..." He frowned even more, trying obviously hard to remember, till he lifted his gaze in what looked like fear up to Joe´s level. "What are we today?"  
  
Joe´s brows flew up. "You mean what day?!"  
  
Methos nodded slowly.  
  
"25th. You wanna know who´s president, too?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Oh come on, Methos, you really should think better of me, don´t you think? Dýou actually believe I´d fell for a stunt like that? What are we, Jesus Christ!!"  
  
"But honestly, I ..."  
  
"You don´t remember leaving with Scott?"  
  
"Madows?"  
  
"No, Walter Scott, of course!"  
  
"Joe", Methos said calmly while he sat up, still feeling a little shaky, even more now that he knew he´d lost his memory.  
  
"I swear to all the Gods that I don´t remember it. What happened?"  
  
Joe looked at him very hard. "You said you killed him."  
  
Methos fell silent, then asked very, very quietly: "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"You said you killed him, because he watched a fight you had with another Immortal. And you do have a torn sleeve."  
  
Methos looked down on him, noticing the whole in his sweater, something he was surely going to whine about once he´d stettled this subject.  
  
"I´d never kill a Watcher. Would be too much a risk."  
  
"He´s not answering his phone", Joe prompted.  
  
"Oh, that proves it all, of course!" Methos snapped back. "How can you believe I killed the man? Hell, I even like him!"  
  
"You told me you did!"  
  
"And then I passed out. So I was confused by the quickening. Whatever I said in that state doesn´t mean anything!"  
  
To underline his words he stood, but only to find he couldn´t hold his balance and stumpled back down on the cauch.  
  
Joe involuntarily had made a step closer to him, but the look of distrust never lost his eyes.  
  
"If you were confused, you might have killed him."  
  
"I can´t even stand!"  
  
"You managed to get back here on your own."  
  
Methos made an attempt to reply something, but was interrupted by a violent yawn crawling over his face.  
  
Suddely he was dead-tired, his vision slurred, he didn´t even notice his head falling down on the sofa again.  
  
"Methos! Methos! Falling asleep´s not an answer!" 


End file.
